Chapter 5: Date Surprise
The venue where the Gala took place was, in short, gigantic. And maybe a bit too posh for John's liking. When he took a girl out on the first date, he preferred somewhere more homely, where they could talk and have a good time. Also where photographers weren't snapping a picture of the two of them at the entrance. But he supposed it would be interesting to experience an event like this up close.
He wore his blue suit, that according to everyone brought out his eyes; Sherlock once had said they were the exact same shade of steel blue as the lips on a hypothermically conserved corpse, which the blogger was dubious to categorise as an insult or a compliment, Sherlock did like corpses, didn't he? Jessika had worn a red dress that hugged her figure just tight enough.
They mingled for a bit, but the blogger didn't particularly care for the people who approached them. They all seemed to want a piece of him, asking about Sherlock and if he had any gossip he wanted to share. Which of course, he didn't.
Once they'd settled on one of the tables, they engaged in small talk for a few moments. Jessika was really passionate about her profession, which was good. But appeared equally interested in John's "fame" for his assistance in the consulting detective career, which was bad. The doctor was not bothered by the idea of Sherlock and him being recognised by the press, he was secretly glad the detective got the recognition he deserved, but he was not a person who enjoyed talking about himself and how well-known he was for a prolonged period of time.
"Well, this is new. I've never been anywhere where they carried the food around on swords." He said, chuckling as one of the waiters strolled around them and waved a impaled meat at the table next to them. The event apparently had some sort of Brazilian theme. It was a bit ridiculous.
"I've been. And trust me, it's not as if they should be swinging those things around, I feel like I may loose an eye." Jessika was not thrilling, or specially fascinating, if anything a bit dim-witted, but she was charming enough and she could tell amusing remarks, so it was alright for John, who started choking in his glass of water from laughter and the bloke shot him an unamused glare.
"Best not to anger them, though. Or Sherlock will have a field day cataloguing sword injuries with my corpse." He joked.
He managed to remind himself of not thinking about the selfish posh six-foot-worth of sulking consulting detective he had left at home, who seemed to be decidedly brilliant, and interesting, and annoying, and just the right amount of arse-hole when the soldier was trying to ignore him. So he focused on eyeing what the Menu had in store for them that night.
John could hardly read all the foreign-language-written names and posh-sounding descriptions of the food he was expected to consume during their stay. And he suddenly felt himself missing Angelo's simple but perfectly prepared pasta and sauce. "I don't think I have ever tried any of these, I don't even recognise the names." He laughed and Jessika swung her glass of wine in agreement.
"I'm sure you have, they just probably didn't sound like tea with the queen when you did." Her laugh was interesting and a bit pitchy, and even though he was very fond of sarcastic humour, he realised there was something in the woman in front of him that lacked a bit of spark. Maybe that slight mocking tone which would have made the remark better. More entertaining. Just as he was about to answer with his own joke he heard something he wasn't supposed to listen here. For a second he thought he'd imagined it, but there it was, clear as day: Sherlock's low baritone voice. "John?" He said questioningly. Fake questioningly. He could recognise that false tone from miles away.
"Oh please, no." He muttered under his breath. Please don't let it be Sherlock crashing my date. Again. He turned around and saw his idiot of a flatmate, wearing his best black suit, and his deep purple shirt, and it was just John's luck that he looked stunning. Like a greek statue. God, help him.
He approached the table and Jessika smiled at him. Not at all upset of watching the famous Sherlock Holmes standing in front of her, greeting her with pretended amiability. "Hey, if it isn't the consulting detective himself." She said.
Meanwhile, John just wanted the earth to rip apart and swallow him whole, or better yet, swallow the big giant arse next to him. "Mind if I join you?"
"Of course not, Sherlock. You can sit with us, right John?" She turned around excited. A bit too giddy for the soldier's mood to handle. She didn't realise it was all a ruse and not a coincidence.
"No." He said, and then proceeded to repeat the answer at least seven more times in a chant of "no no no no no no no" as the detective gracefully sat down in the chair opposite of him and smirked. "He's just joking. Of course you can." Jessika flattened and looked at the blogger disapprovingly, although John didn't know if it was because of him denying his flatmate to crash his date or for the self-same flatmate's appearance.
"Why, thank you. This will be interesting." He tried the fake cheer once again, and damn he was really good for anyone who was not John.
The blogger shot daggers at Sherlock out of his eyes. And the detective just acted nonchalant, eyeing the doctor as if he was confused of his anger. As if he shouldn't be enraged about the fuckery he was doing. "Sir," He grabbed a waiter from his arm. "Could we have a round of toasted Pão De Queijo?" He asked in perfect Portuguese and John thought he might actually kill the man this time.